


the gay science

by annejumps



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Bottom Eames, M/M, Nietzsche, Philosophy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 18:30:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13013658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: Arthur wants Eames to teach him about Nietzsche.





	the gay science

**Author's Note:**

> Found this snippet in my WIPs folder from 2013.

_“Love, too, has to be learned.”_

\-------

“Where has God gone?" Eames panted. “I shall tell you. We have killed him—you and I. We are his murderers. But—fuck, Arthur—but how have we done this? How were we able to drink up the seas? Who gave us the sponge to wipe away the entire horizon? What did we do when we… bloody hell... unchained the earth from its sun? Whither is it moving now? Whither are we... moving now? Away from all suns? Are we not perpetually falling? Backward, sideward, forward, in all directions?”

“Mostly forward,” Arthur replied, panting as well, digging his finger into Eames’ hips. “Although technically, we’re not really going anywhere.” He changed the angle of his hips, resuming a sharp snapping.

“Ah, fuck. How shall we… console ourselves?”

“With a lot of sodomy,” Arthur suggested. 

“How shall we console ourselves, the... murderers of all murderers. Fuck,” Eames muttered again, as if to himself, dropping his head forward. 

“So, what was his point?”

“Whose point, love?” Eames sank more onto his elbows, spreading his knees apart further on the bed and pressing his hips back. He’d always been kind of a slut for Arthur’s cock.

“Um.” Arthur had almost forgotten. “Nietzsche.”

“In saying God is dead?”

“Yeah. Why’s it called The Gay Science?” Arthur slowed his hips, pressing in deep and then slowly drawing out.

“The ‘gay science’ bit refers to the—fuck—the art of poetry. So really you’re asking about—oh—two different things.”

“Uh huh.” Arthur congratulated himself for not laughing yet.

“So what—fuck—what question are you really asking, Arthur? Oh, fuck, right there.”

“What did he mean in saying God is dead?”

“He fucking meant God is dead.” Eames was starting to sound impatient. Arthur didn’t go any faster, but he kept going deep.

“So why’s the title about poetry?”

Eames was starting to press back against him, fucking himself on Arthur’s cock. “Because it’s a fucking book of fucking poems.”

“What are the other poems about?”

Eames didn’t say anything for a while, busily fucking himself back onto Arthur’s cock, panting. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. Tell me what the other poems in the book are about.”

“I can’t fucking remember, I’ve a cock up my arse. Arthur, fuck me faster and stop asking all these godforsaken questions.”

“Aha. Victory.”

“Fuck you, you tremendous arse. I demand faster fucking. Or get on your back if you’re going to be this lazy.”

“I’m not being lazy, Eames,” Arthur said, not changing a thing. “I’m trying to learn about Nietzsche.”

“Trying to learn about bugger all. Fucking hell, Arthur,” Eames panted, moving to wrap a hand around his cock. 

“Uh uh,” Arthur said, bending over to smack Eames’ hand away, the two of them in a brief struggle for Eames’ cock before Eames relented and Arthur wrapped a hand tightly around him, to Eames’ gasp. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Eames chanted as Arthur stroked him tightly and quickly, then shuddered and came, Arthur following with his hips pressed up close, his cock deep. “Bloody Nietzsche.”

“Mm,” Arthur agreed, pressing a kiss to his back.


End file.
